Pennyworth: The Ballad Of A Butler
by BlakeyBoy
Summary: Sure, everyone knows who Batman is, but what about his bumbling old butler, Alfred? Looks can be quite deceiving, and maybe it turns out he isn't so 'bumbling' after all...This is just a oneshot, please Read and Review!


** I made this a while ago and thought, you know? Maybe I should post it...so I did. Please read, review, and favorite! :D**

The soft clatter of tea-cups being washed was the only recognizable noise to him; Everything else was still as he stood alone in the kitchen, a soft breeze flowing through the open window and into his hair. The tenant of the large manor had just left to assume his role as part-time vigilante, leaving his butler to tend to the housekeeping. However, appearances can be quite deceiving, and Bruce Wayne wasn't the only man in Gotham concealing his true identity;

Ensuring no one was around with a quick glance behind his shoulder, Alfred dropped the remaining dishes into the dirty water, spattering bits of food onto the counter. He didn't notice in the slightest, heading to the foyer where he looked upon a large portrait of the Wayne Family. Thomas, Martha, and a young Bruce sat still upon the wall, plastered onto a canvas as if in waiting. Reaching in towards the fireplace below, the butler pushed three bricks in a pattern, causing the painting to secede and revealing an entryway behind it. Stepping onto the pedestal that appeared before him, Alfred was lifted high into the air, allowing him to enter the secret door with ease, concealing it once more with the painting behind him. Once inside, he flipped a switch on the wall, illuminating the immediate area around him and revealing a long corridor. As he continued down the desolate hallway, he finally reached the end, a large entryway to a colossal laboratory spreading out before him with several machines glinting in the dim light. Paying as much mind to them as he did the dishes, he walked past without a second glance, approaching a large hangar at the end. He stopped at the entrance, entering several digits onto a keypad that, once opened, revealed a sleek, gleaming Lincoln at the end.

A wall of pressurized air closed the door behind him as he stepped in, and the wall beside him opened up, revealing a large armory of firearms. A vast array of shotguns and rifles lined the racks, but he didn't seem to notice, opting for a .38 special, a snub nose revolver on the very bottom. Slipping it into his jacket, he slinked towards his vehicle, opening the door solemnly and sitting down onto the plush seats. As the ignition roared, he felt powerful, as though nothing could stop him, and promptly pulled a remote from the dash. Smashing the red button atop the device, a large door opened ahead of him, revealing a narrow roadway that led out of the manor. He lightly tapped the pedal, allowing the vehicle to move forward a bit and soon, was speeding down the narrow passage, seemingly invincible. At the end of the tunnel, there was a dim light, and finally, he exited, revealing the prancing moon overhead, casting a dull glow over everything around him. The road ahead was merely dirt, and he closed the hangar behind him to ensure no one discovered his hideout. Then, he headed towards the city.

After several minutes of driving, he could see the faint tips of lit-up skyscrapers on the horizon as he steadily approached, ready to accomplish his mission. The concrete landscape ahead of him gradually became larger in his vision as he grew nearer, and finally, he was upon the outskirts of the city. He had not noticed, but several cars were now in his midst. He paid them no mind, speeding down the highway in his ride as if he didn't care. Now the skyscrapers were in front of him, each one seeming to stretch forever into the abyss of the night sky, but these were not what he was searching for. As he drove further into the city, growing nearer to the heart, he found the tall buildings fading and the streetlights growing fewer and further between. A dimly lit road stretched for miles ahead of him, and finally, he had reached his destination; An intimidating, seemingly abandoned warehouse stood in front of him, one dim, orange light glowing above the only entryway. His Lincoln sat in the shadows a good distance away, and he pulled the gun from his coat pocket, loading six shells into it. The dashboard fell, revealing several unimportant papers within, and the butler began to sift. After a few seconds, he pulled a dossier from the cluttered mess and tossed it down into the passenger seat, revealing a mugshot before him.

The criminal before the butler was hideous, an inky tattoo grainy on his face in the photo. "The Devil's Embrace" was forever written into his neck, and the rest of his face was no less threatening. Two deadly eyes that seemed to penetrate the butler's very being peered on at him, expression formed into a scowl with a rugged beard covering the entirety of his face. Atop the page was his name; Miles Kane.

Before Alfred could attempt to learn any more about his target, two headlights appeared in the distance, slowly rolling up. He could hear a faint rattle out the window as the truck approached, and finally, it stopped, almost directly in front of the warehouse. The door to the building opened slightly, revealing a muscular man inside. He wore a torn jacket and bloody jeans, several tattoos adorning his body, and he knocked on the window of the truck audibly. Alfred was unable to hear the two conversing in front of him, but around two minutes in, the passenger side door opened, revealing his target. Kane was much taller than his mugshot led Alfred to believe, at least 6'6'', and he seemed much more intimidating in person. Wearing nothing but cargo pants and a wife beater, he approached the other man, slyly shaking his hand and following him into the warehouse. The truck driver stepped out as well, carrying a package inside with him and leaving the truck idle outside. Alfred waited until a minute had passed, and finally, opened his door.

Stealthily approaching the building, he carefully confirmed that no one else was outside, and then moved towards the truck. Pulling a strange package from his overcoat, he popped the hood open silently, placing the sticky device onto the engine and promptly closing it. Then, he stepped towards the window, making a futile attempt to see in, as the glass was stained with years of filth and grime. Unable to wipe it away, he readied his revolver and stepped towards the door, listening intently for any sound inside. He heard none.

Using his best instinct, he opened the door violently, jumping in with his pistol raised, but no one was inside. Peering around confused, he had not expected what was to come at all.

_Click._

"Drop the gun or we shoot you, old man," the voice was gruff, and the butler unwillingly did as he was told. As he turned, he noted all three of the men he had seen enter behind him, each one with a silenced pistol aimed at his body. "You think we didn't see your Lincoln? Pretty fucking obvious, if you ask me," it was Miles. However, Alfred only chuckled.

"I wasn't trying to conceal myself," his heavy English accent cut through the air as he laughed some more, much to his captors confusion.

"What?" Miles was perplexed. All three of them turned to face his Lincoln in the dim light, exactly as the cunning butler had hoped. Reaching into his pocket, he swapped the revolver for something similar to a detonator.

"Hey, what the fuck is he-" the man was unable to finish his sentence, the force of the fiery explosion behind him leaving his charred body dead instantly. When the dust finally settled, Alfred looked up and noted all three of them on the ground, blood pooling around their mutilated bodies. He could only chuckle as he stepped over them back out, revealing the totally obliterated truck to his side. However, what he saw past the truck was what frightened him; Two more sets of headlights appeared, each one now speeding in his direction. He knew he had to act fast, sprinting as quick as his feeble legs could carry him to his vehicle. It was then he heard the gunfire.

Several bullet holes peppered the back of the Lincoln as he sped away violently, leaving destruction in his wake. The two other trucks were now behind him in hot pursuit, and he knew leading them back to Wayne Manor wasn't an option. Pulling the revolver out once more, he blindly aimed out the window towards his assailants, and miraculously, in possibly one of the luckiest shots ever, the car in the lead sped wildly off to the side, careening over the guard rail and into the forest below before igniting into a burning fireball. The remaining vehicle sped up alongside him, and they now entered the highway along with several other cars. Firing two more rounds in the general direction of his attackers, the rounds simply bounced off the truck, ricocheting somewhere distant. However, the mobsters beside him weren't as handicapped in shooting;

Several men in the back of the truck raised their assault rifles, riddling the Lincoln with holes as the butler desperately attempted to speed up. It was to no avail, his car not going any faster despite the hot lead growing steadily closer to him. Pointing the revolver out once more, he weaved through a line of traffic before sending another shot their way. It was a direct hit, one of the assault rifle-wielding goons dropping from the bed of the truck onto the asphalt in a fine, crimson mist, spattering gore onto the remaining three. Without warning, the old man found himself on the wrong side of the yellow line, now avoiding vehicles head on. The truck behind him didn't care in the least, easily avoiding the oncoming traffic. Alfred, however, wasn't faring nearly as well.

In a glowing shower of sparks, he found the right side of his vehicle rubbing into a minivan ahead, totally erasing all of the gleaming paint on that side. Finally, he thrust the wheel to the right, making his way back onto the correct side, but then found himself running out of time, Wayne Manor now cresting on the horizon. In his final desperate attempt, the butler fired his last volley of shots out the window, each one glancing harmlessly off the grill. Finally the dirt path leading to his secret hangar appeared within his vision, and he realized how frenzied he was truly becoming, the threat of leading them to Bruce now a strong possibility. Even though he thought it audacious and rash, he pulled off onto the road with a plan so insane, it just might work. Every bump in the road seemed like a mountain as he steadily approached, seconds like hours as the sweat beads rolled freely off of his cranium. Now, the 'all natural' mountain side was in front of him, and he gunned the ignition towards it. His tailing assailants did the same, but weren't expecting what was to come from the crafty butler.

Suddenly, the mountain ahead of them opened up in a burst of air, allowing the Lincoln in harmlessly. However, just as quick as it had opened, the entrance closed, leaving the truck driver frantically slamming on his brakes. The bullet-riddled vehicle slowed to a halt inside the secret entrance, and in around three seconds, the expectant earthquake erupted, the truck smashing into the doorway in a fireball of epic proportions and sending shards of glass everywhere as shrapnel. Alfred stared vacantly at his side of the door, knowing that only a few yards away, the mobsters lay dead or dying outside. After a solemn moment, the idling engine regained power and sped back towards the manor ahead, the butler ready to greet his master once more.

[XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx X]

"You'll never believe it, Alfred," Bruce removed his mask carefully as he spoke, stepping into the kitchen to greet his friend and childhood caretaker. "I took on eight mobsters out there, but Kane got away. He fled off to his warehouse in the Narrows, I believe, but I'll have him before the week is up," the butler chuckled at Bruce's naivety.

"Well, I'm sure you'll nab him soon, sir," the Englishman carefully wiped away the stuck-on grime on the glass before him.

"You have no idea how hard it is to be a vigilante," Bruce joked lightly, sitting down to the table and grabbing a bottle of water. Alfred chuckled lightly, moving the gun around in his coat pocket.

"I'm sure I don't, Master Wayne. _I'm sure I don't,"_


End file.
